The guy who makes our stickers, Chris Tronolone of ExpressiveDesigns, also makes the stickers for Jesse James’ shop West CoastChoppers and dozens of other semi-profitable companies.
He pulled up in front of the headquarters recently in a double stretched Hum vielimousine and stormed the doors of the Bikernet Headquarters. Eventhough his bodyguards were heavily armed, he was a sweating nervouswreck. I couldn’t figure it out and got sorta shaky myself as his menopened their coats to flash their stainless steel Browning autos.
“Chris, you don’t need to go there, man. Bandit generally pays hisbills. Hell, I’ll pay it again,” I said trying to figure out what thehell was on his mind. “How about we write a glowing article aboutyour company on Bikernet.” That seemed to make him smile some, but helooked around the headquarters as if it was a solitary confinementcell at the Los Angeles County Jail. The guy was as touchy as a shortfused firecracker. “Can I get you a girl, Chris?” I said it with puresincerity. Either we were in a lot of trouble or he was on drugs.
He shook his head and stood up abruptly. He held out hissweaty palm and I shook his hand in greeting, fearing that Bandit hadsomehow ripped him off and I was going to take the slug for anotherdeal gone south. He continually looked at his watch. He moved aboutthe headquarters like a kid who was forced to go to a museum ofancient kitchen appliances. He looked at the antique motorcycles, theDavid Mann paintings and old motorcycle photographs as if he couldcare less. With each abrupt irritable move he glanced at his watch. Abig Samoan looking body guard stepped up to him in the garage as helooked at the various stickers on Bandit’s rusting tool box, “It’stime to go to the airport, Boss.”
Suddenly he turned to face me, a slightly overweight man whowasn’t particularly tall, about 45, he held out his sweating palm onefinal time and I was sure I was going to give the ultimate gift toBikernet, my life. I shook his hand and for the first time he smiledin touchy fashion as if he was about to be involved in somethingreally bad. “I can’t stand the mainland. We’re headed back to theislands. Thanks for showing me around,” he muttered and headedbriskly for the door.
I stammered like a kid caught with his hand in the cookiejar, but I was glad to show him to the door and watched the twomuscled guardians depart.
Sure as shit, just after the long black vehicle pulled away,Bandit rolled up on a new V-Rod, then I got the story on Chris. Idiscovered that Chris had escaped the mainland right after graduatingfrom High School in 1977. He had been riding and surfing most of hislife and as the salt water fever grew inside of him he looked for theultimate spot on the earth to surf. A land with constant warm waterand rippling waves.
“He wanted to live in a different place withgreat weather and warm water year ’round,” Bandit confessed pushingthe V-Rod into the garage. “He started working at a silk-screen shopon the North-Shore of Oahu printing T-shirts in the evenings, so hecould surf all day. It was great back then, he made just enough moneyto get by, no responsibilities. His rent was only $100 a month, andhe rode around on a Yamaha 250 enduro. He later started working for afriend who had a sticker business, so he worked some days printingshirts and other days printing stickers. His buddy flew to Bali forthe summer’s to surf, so he took over the business, soon after hebecame a business partner,” Bandit said pulling a welding glassesover his head and firing up his old beat up torch.
Bandit fired that torch and send sparks spraying around thegarage as he told me that we got hooked up with Chris through hisbrother Bob Tronolone who had ridden with Bandit in the mid ’70s on thecoast. Just recently after a 25 year absence, Bob found Bandit on theInternet and they got to talking. Bandit needed stickers and washaving his usual bad luck with goofball companies that told him onething and did another. Bandit traded books and a dayroll for hisfirst batch of stickers. “They’ve produced some wacky stickers overthe years,” Bandit said while staring at a glowing belt buckleproject. He hadn’t hand fabbed a buckle in a couple of years andafter slamming into that deer his eyesight was mostly toast. He wasburning everything on the bench. “Most of the stuff they printed forcompanies was tame, like stickers for Walt Disney’s new movie, Lilo &Stitch. On the other hand they just did some for a Mud Bog race wherewomen were competing and wanted ‘Powered by Pussy’ and another onethat said ‘Pussy Power’. They also produced some for a diving teamthat said ‘Muff Divers Go Deep’.”
According to the welding Bandit, filling the garage with smoke,Expressive Designs has been in business since 1979 in Hawaii, butthey also opened a location in Torrance, California in ’87 which hispartner runs. They manufacture Mylar window stickers, Vinyl bumperstickers, and they also print on a material called rice paper whichgoes under the glass and resin on surfboards and disappears exceptfor what they print. All major Surfboard companies have their logoson all boards made. All pro surfers have all of their sponsors ontheir boards which is printed on rice paper. That paper is so rare,Chris imports it from Japan and export it to the states.”
As Bandit continued to mumble and catch his bench on fire, Idove for the rusting fire extinguisher in the corner. Bandit leanedback on the bar stool at the bench and blew a hole in the drywallbehind the bench as I sprayed the flames with near empty fireextinguisher. “Pay attention, Snake!” Bandit mutter trying to find mein the dark garage wearing number 10 welding lenses. “Chris also hasanother business he started as a joke when the GOT MILK commercialscame out. He started doing sticker’s like GOT SURF? GOT PAM? and GOTGOLF? etc. He started getting a lot of calls from other companiesthat wanted there own ‘Got’ stuff. He fabricated Got Miller Litestickers for the Pro Bowl, Got Blood for the blood bank, Got Choppersfor Jesse James, Got Duracell, Got Crabs for a fish market on Maui,and several others. They still get orders for the ‘Got’ thingsat http://www.gotstickershawaii.com
“Goddamnit Snake, didn’t you know that sticker’s are thecheapest form of advertisement there is?” Bandit said showering me inmelting brass. I decided that this conversation was futile anddangerous as I splashed a bucked of corrosive water next to thegrinding wheel on my Levis to put out the fire. As he continued tomumble, I stumbled back into the headquarters and grabbed Chris’s cardwhich fortunately contained his cell number. I dialed quickly, tryingto wrap up this mess and get to the bar before Bandit discovered Ileft him alone in the garage.
“Mr. T, it’s Snake from Bikernet, how the hell does a guyorder stickers?” I said my Levis still smoking as I glanced out atthe smoldering garage. I could still see sparks flying out of thegarage door.
“Best way to get a hold of us is to either call 808-638-9090 or wehave two Fax lines 808-638-9090 or 808-638-0171 or e-mail us @expd@hawaii.rr.com or expdart@hawaii.rr.com, Chris said running tohis plane. “Anybody can fax or e-mail art toget price quote. Tell us how many colors and what size and a roughquantity they are looking at. That way we can tell them best way toset it up. I hate the fuckin’ mainland. Sorry, but I’ve got to getback to the islands. Oh, also, if they want it die cut or straightcut we can also tell them how to send art over e-mail or mail it ondisk. We get art from all over the world and we can deal with any ofit as long as we can talk to or e-mail the customer. See ya.”
He shut off his cell phone as he reached the terminal, buthis card listed their address:
Expressive Designs 59-740 Amaumau Pl. Haleiwa, Hawaii 96712.
Suddenly the Bikernet cell rang as I was about to set itdown, and grab another fire extinguisher and head back to the glowinggarage. “I have a sense of humor,” Chris said in his scary straighttone, “just don’t make me sound like a corn ball.”
The phone went dead, as dead as I thought I was going to bewhen I first met the man. Now each time I look at our stickers orJesse James, I have new respect. I gotta get a drink.
–Snake
